


You Flee My Dream Come The Morning

by hinotoriii



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Morrigan POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotoriii/pseuds/hinotoriii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Five times Morrigan listened to Rhysand worry over Feyre (and the one time Morrigan met Feyre).</i>
</p><p>Set at the beginning of <i>'A Court of Mist and Fury'</i>, during the events of Rhysand's return to the Night Court after his fifty years Under the Mountain.</p><p>None of Rhysand's friends really know what their High Lord went through to protect them, but the last thing Morrigan expects upon his return is to realise that in his darkest hours Rhysand somehow found his mate. </p><p>Five short scenes of Morrigan (and other members of Rhysand's Inner Circle) learning about Feyre, and one scene where Morrigan gets her first introduction onto the human painter that her cousin has lost his heart to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Flee My Dream Come The Morning

She hears the sound of glass breaking from the other room and instantly senses who it is.

Morrigan rises to her feet in one fluid movement, rushing to the other room and freezing in her footsteps at the sight of the cousin she has not seen in decades. He is shirtless, his large membranous wings spread wide on either side of him, and even from where she stands Morrigan can spot the pattern of scars embedded violently upon his otherwise pale back.

 _What has that monster done to you, cousin?_ She thinks. Rumours of the bitch's wrath stretched far, and Morrigan had heard what they'd come to call her High Lord.

Monster.

Pawn.

_Whore._

Morrigan doesn't care. She is simply relieved to see him again finally. After so long, after all he has gone through for them all.

"Rhys." She says, her words a cautious calmness whispering upon the tense air between them.

Morrigan watches as Rhysand's back and shoulders tense. Notices the way he uncharacteristically curls in on himself slightly. She knows that there is something horribly wrong from the way he hunches over where his arms press against him, as if attempting to prevent himself from being torn apart.

"She was my mate."

For one terrifying moment Morrigan's body feels cold like ice. Her mind jumps to the worst possibly conclusion, that Amarantha -- her cousin's torturer and abuser for so many years -- is his mate. Her stomach turns in an odd sensation of sickness, hoping by the Cauldron that fate was surely not that cruel to him.

"Who was, Rhysand? Who was your mate?"

His head bows further, and as Morrigan takes a few steps closer towards him, she can see his eyes were clenched together tightly too in an effort to try and stop his tears from falling.

_"Feyre."_

Morrigan stops. She goes to kneel beside Rhysand, watching him with concern and worry evident in eyes which are silver lined with her own tears. She doesn't understand, hasn't heard of a Feyre before now. But then a lot can happen in fifty years.

It hardly mattered. Whoever this Feyre was, Morrigan knew in her heart of hearts that Rhysand already loved her deeply. She was his mate, and if she were to walk in the room there and then Morrigan would likely accept her as part of the family instantly.

But she wasn't there. And the truth of that made Morrigan's heart clench in an ice cold grip. She couldn't help but to fear that something had happened to her, something bad enough to leave Rhysand so emotionally broken.

Morrigan gently pulls Rhysand towards her, wrapping her arms around the cousin she had been so incredibly worried she would never see again. He falls into her, his tears becoming muffled sobs against her chest. Morrigan feels the slide of tears sliding down her own cheeks as she rests a hand against the back of Rhysand's head.

There is much she wants to know, to ask -- but it isn't the right time.

So she holds him as he cries, and Morrigan simply feels thankful that her cousin has been returned to her.  
  


* * *

  
Morrigan knows her cousin has nightmares.

She also knows he won't talk about them. That he'll do what he can to shield her, Amren, Cassian and Azriel from whatever demons still linger to torment him from within the darkness of his own mind. Rhysand is a protector through and through. He has lost much in his life, the precious shreds of happiness he so dearly treasures often ripped or stolen from him in acts of deep and scarring betrayal. His small yet close Inner Circle along with the precious jewel of a city Velaris are his to guard and protect with his life, and Morrigan knows he will do exactly that until the end of his days.

She expects that protection stretches out to another now too. A mysterious woman of which Morrigan still only knows by name.

Despite whatever hell he shields from them Morrigan does not intend to let Rhys suffer alone. None of his friends do. They had spent so long being powerless to help him, they do not intend to be useless in his recovery now.

So within the first week of his return home, after Rhysand wakes from another nightmare and reclines in a chair, glass of wine summoned into his hand as he watches over the night sky he so loves, Morrigan decides to join him. She speaks nothing of why he's not sleeping, doesn't even mention anything about how he's coping. For she knows he does not want to think or be reminded of such things yet. Not while it's still so fresh for him.

Instead, she speaks of something which she knows has provided him with that fragile feeling of joy.

"Tell me about her."

For a long moment Rhysand doesn't respond. He drinks from his glass, looking out at the sky before him. But Morrigan doesn't miss the slight edge of a smile, the way his eyes soften just ever so gently.

"She's ... like a tiny spark of light in the dark. A glimmer of hope that appeared when I most needed it, which I clung to as soon as I realised it was there."

Morrigan listens, learns. Comes to know Feyre as if she were someone she'd met herself. The painter in a huntresses body, so selfless when it came to her family and those she loved that the similarity to Rhysand made a smile raise itself upon her ruby red lips.

At one point Amren decides to join them, letting Rhysand speak of how Feyre fought against the Middengard Wyrm. Morrigan senses pride from him as he describes what had happened, of how she had thrown a bone at Amarantha as if it were a javelin. She could imagine what a sight that must have been to all in attendance, especially knowing how Amarantha loved to feel as if she controlled by the fear she instilled within people. Morrigan imagines how livid the monstrous bitch must have been.

Her heart wrenches when Rhysand later speaks of how Amarantha had killed her. For a moment Morrigan thinks that's it; that's the end of the tale. Feyre had died freeing so many she didn't even know the names of, who weren't even originally all that grateful of her efforts, and Rhysand ... well. It certainly explains why he had been so broken up when he first returned.

But then Rhysand speaks of the miracle of Feyre’s revival. How she managed to return to the world, awakening in a body which likely felt much too strong and much too strange to her. The body belonging to a newly crafted High Fae.

"But if she came back..." asks Amren, her tone cautious, wary. "If Feyre's alive, why isn't she here? Why didn't she return with you?"

Her cousins expression freezes and falls so quickly at the question that Morrigan's does the same, already sensing the twist of the story is likely one which will be like a knife turning sharply within her gut.

"Because she doesn't love me."

"Not yet perhaps, but she could in time. She’s only just become a High Fae, you said. Once she learns more about what she’s now a part of, and understands how precious and rare such a bond like the two of you share is..." Morrigan says, her words drifting into the air as she notices how Rhysand sadly shakes his head.

"It won't happen. Even if she knows, Feyre’s already in love with someone else."

"Who?" Amren asks again, raising one of her perfectly arched eyebrows. "After all you’ve just told us, who is she in love with? Who could she love more than she could love-"

"Tamlin," Rhysand interrupts, and both Amren and Morrigan fall into a deadly silence at the sound of the High Lord of Spring’s name. A cold shiver passes over Morrigan, sending a series of horrid chills down each notch of her spine.

Out of anyone, anyone in the entire world, from both the fae and human kingdoms in existence, why did it have to be _Tamlin_ whom had managed to enrapture Rhysand’s mate? Had it not already been enough that Tamlin had betrayed and murdered his mother and sister?

"Feyre loves Tamlin. Everything she did, everything she went through ... it was all for him and his court. And if he somehow makes her happy, makes her feel like she's worth the weight of the world and more, then I don't want to take that from her. I won’t."

Despite the conviction held within his words, it does not go unnoticed to Morrigan how Rhysand's knuckles whiten as his hand tightens around the stem of his glass.

* * *

  
Rhysand’s worry over Feyre only grows as time passes.

Both Morrigan and Amren notice it quickly, and even Cassian and Azriel sense that Rhysand’s mood often worsens, that more times than not he’s seemingly frustrated whenever he’s not trying to focus his attention on something else. Morrigan notices him flying sometimes, an act he has always loved and which usually helps to clear his mind for a little while. But no matter what distractions he uses Morrigan knows Rhysand’s mind eventually returns to the mate he so yearns for.

Rhysand has a tendency to be stubborn, this Morrigan has learnt well enough over the centuries they’ve been there for one another. There’s a side of him he keeps to himself, a side of him which has only managed to grow stronger since his return from Under the Mountain. But Morrigan manages to find an opening -- a small slither of a crack in the barrier Rhysand surrounds himself with -- and soon discovers what it is that has angered him.

And she’s not surprised to learn the source is Tamlin.

She should have known really. There were rare few people who could grate on Rhysand’s nerves quite as much. And given how Feyre remains with the Lord of Spring -- given how it’s since been announced she’s _engaged_ to him -- it is of no surprise how her cousin seems prepared to winnow to the Spring Court at any given moment.

“He’s neglecting her,” Says Rhysand as he paces the room. There’s a frown knitted upon his brow, the obvious sign of his worry. “I can see it though the bond. Every night. She suffers, makes herself sick out of her fear and anxiety, and Tamlin just … _ignores her._ ”

His last two words are spoken like a growl, the disgust of Tamlin’s ignorance heavily apparent. Morrigan feels for both her cousin and the woman she has yet to meet, understanding all too well that the last thing Feyre needs is to be isolated. Closed off from the world. Tamlin should have been helping her heal, not pretending everything was alright.

_‘And if he somehow makes her happy, makes her feel like she's worth the weight of the world and more, then I don't want to take that from her’._

Rhysand’s previous words ring loudly in Morrigan’s mind. She knows that if Feyre were currently staying with them that she would be cared for; not just by Rhysand himself but all of them. Her, Amren, Azriel and Cassian -- they would all aid in helping Feyre find herself again.

“Why don’t we bring her here then?” Morrigan hears Cassian ask. She doesn’t know if Cassian understands what Feyre is to Rhysand just yet or if he only knew that they were somewhat close after what they had both gone through, yet either way he knows Feyre is important. “Didn’t you mention a bargain you made with her? Act on it. But don’t send her back unless it’s what she really wants.”

“Cassian,” Morrigan says, shooting him a disapproving look. Rhysand stops pacing long enough to shake his head, rubbing a hand against his forehead as he lets out a sigh.

“You know the bargain doesn’t work that way. I can only bring her here for a week at a time, and even then I’m reluctant to do so. Any longer than that is as good as kidnapping in the eyes of the Spring Court.”

There were rules - boundaries as it were - that even someone as powerful as Rhysand could not break. To do so would be as good as declaring war between the Courts involved, and despite how much Feyre might mean to Rhysand, Morrigan knows he still puts the protection of Velaris first. The city's existence being revealed after all these years, whilst the Night Court fought against Spring … it is a result that could only end in catastrophe. Something none who work so hard to protect it would risk.

Morrigan also knows that an act such as stealing Feyre away for a permanent duration of time would likely not aid her in recovering the way she most needed. Despite the support they would all provide her with, despite Rhysand’s own efforts to lift her back out of the pit she is quickly falling into Feyre would likely grow resentful. She would see them only as the monsters she already envisions Rhysand is, and they would have given her no reason to allow them to earn her trust. It would destroy any camaraderie or friendship they wished to offer her.

“Perhaps it’s only temporary,” Morrigan suggests, crossing her arms. “Perhaps Tamlin will learn and grow attentive to her needs again. His neglect and disregard could be born out of his fear for watching her die not too long ago -”

“You don’t think I know that’s what it is?” Rhysand interrupts, and Morrigan can see pain hidden within his expression. She doesn’t even really believed the words she spoke, and she had said them more in an attempt to soothe Rhysand’s own growing fears about the situation. “He has every right to fear and be protective after what happened. But from what I’ve been feeling … the glimpses I’ve seen … It’s much more than that. She should not be left to suffer and struggle against such demons in silence.”

“This _is_ Tamlin we’re talking about still, yes?” Asks Cassian. “Hasn’t he always been a selfish prick?”

"Has been as long as I've known of him," Says Azriel from where he's leaning against the wall. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You said so yourself, Rhys,” Amren adds from where she’s seated in a chair. “He barely did anything to help Feyre Under the Mountain. Do we really expect him to act like the loving and caring partner to her now?”

“If he intends to make her his _wife_ , then yes,” Rhysand snarls, disgusting dripping off the statement.  
  
The conversation moves in circles, but never reaches a true agreement.

It’s brought up again, on other occasions where Rhysand’s woken from a vision of Feyre suffering alone so far away. Morrigan knows it concerns him deeply, and she wishes there were an easy solution to make things better. Not just for Feyre or Rhysand separately, but for them both.

But there is no easy option. No blaring sign that's obvious and simple and causes the least disruption to either of the Court's Night or Spring.

So Rhysand continues to only steal Feyre away when the deal they made requires it, and sends her back to her betrothed once the weeks come to an end.

Morrigan hates knowing that it tears her cousin apart to see his mate return to a place with such little of the support and affection Feyre both needs and deserves.

* * *

  
Rhysand’s plan on what to do on the day of Feyre’s marriage to Tamlin is to get - in his own words - rip-roaring drunk. Morrigan is aware of this because she’d overheard a prior conversation he’d shared with both Cassian and Azriel. Both had wanted to join him - likely to make sure he was alright, given how he’s been since his return home almost three months ago now - but Rhysand had been adamant in wanting to drink alone, likely so he could wallow in his feelings by himself.

None of them considered drinking to be an ideal way for him to deal with his emotions, but at the end of the day it did still remain Rhysand’s choice.

Given those circumstances it is easy to understand why Morrigan is surprised to find Rhysand _not drinking_ as the days lead closer and closer towards Feyre’s wedding date. Instead whenever she sees him Rhysand appears contemplative, oftentimes even conflicted.

On an evening two days before the wedding Morrigan walks onto one of the balconies to find Rhysand already there and appearing rather confused, his forehead crinkled in a way which suggests he seems to be trying to understand something alike a very strange mystery to him. Knowing that Rhysand is aware of her presence Morrigan stands in the open archway, tilting her head in silent askance about what he’s thinking. Rhysand’s attention is fixed upon where his hands are resting atop the balcony railing, however even so it does not take him long to speak up.

“She’s not happy,” He says with an edge of bewilderment. Morrigan doesn’t even ask who’s not happy, already knowing it could only be one person that Rhysand speaks of. “I don’t get it. She loves him, I know she does. But she doesn’t want to marry him. Not really.”

Moving to stand by her cousin Morrigan leans her arms upon the railing, watching her cousin with questioningly.

“How do you know?” She asks him, her tone soft as velvet.

“I can tell by the emotion she sends through the bond,” Rhysand replies. “I think … it’s confusing for her too. It’s like she thinks that she _has_ to marry him. That she somehow owes it to him, or that she’s expected to marry him in whatever way Ianthe is planning for them. There’s been no flexibility or choice provided for her, so she’s instead grown to fear it. And from what I can feel off of what she emotions and images Feyre unknowingly sends through the bond we share it’s not the kind of normal, anxious sort of fear anyone would expect from a bride who simply has cold feet.”

“Surely Feyre should be marrying Tamlin because _she wants to?_ ” Morrigan asks with slight gasp. Disgust begins to stir in her belly, a familiar sensation born from a long ago memory from her own experiences. If choice had been taken from Feyre, if she were as good as trapped in her situation right now...

“I don’t think she really knows if she wants it or not,” Rhysand explains, shaking his head sadly. “At first maybe. If she thought and wished for it to be a marriage for the two of them and not just a show for his entire Court. But now? What with everything else she’s been having to deal with more or less on her own as of late?”

He sighs, and Morrigan watches as Rhysand slumps against the railing slightly. She thinks he looks exhausted in that moment, and briefly wonders how often Rhysand is plagued by not only the memories of what he’s gone through, but also the strong waves of emotions and images of what Feyre remembers and has experienced too. It’s a heavy weight for anyone to have to be reminded of.

“I was originally going to break the deal I made with her,” He continues, wiping a hand over his tired face. Morrigan grows slightly more alert at the admission. “I was going to bring her back here once more and at the end of the week free her so she’d never be forced to return. That if she ever did come back here it was of her own will and decision, not mine. I was willing to accept that she loved him and felt truly happy enough with him to marry Tamlin, and I’d decided to let Feyre have that happiness without further interference from me in her life. But now I don’t know. I don’t know what to do -- what with how she’s feeling constantly now and how I just _don’t trust him, Mor…_ ”

“The marriage is still a few days away,” Says Morrigan, reaching out to rest a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “If she’s still unhappy then Rhys, do what you have to do. You have all of our support, and you know that. Just don’t let that woman marry purely out of duty and expectation alone. Remind Feyre she has her choices.”

Rhysand gives Morrigan a small smirk, although behind it effort is barely there.

“It sounds almost as if you’re asking me to crash a wedding I’m not invited to, Mor.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Morrigan replies, watching her cousin with seriousness. The hand she rests on his shoulder tightens slightly, earning Rhysand’s full attention. “You still haven’t called in the deal you made with her this month. Use that as your excuse, if you need to. Even Tamlin can’t hide behind an excuse to go to war if you decide to pull Feyre out of that situation. We both know he’ll hate that you’ve done it and he’ll likely try to fight against it, but you would be breaking no rules.” She pauses, sharing a small smirk of her own with Rhysand. “Especially not if you were acting only out of Feyre’s best interests.”

“You know he won’t ever see it that way even if he thought for one moment to consider Feyre’s feelings upon the matter.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. But others might.”

Rhysand turns away, looking ahead at the starlit view before him. A silence passes between them both for a long moment, yet Morrigan soon spots the way Rhysand’s smirk grows ever so slightly. She hears how he lets out a single breath of laughter before bowing his head.

“Interesting. Perhaps it’s a good thing I haven’t broken the deal I made with her just yet.”

Morrigan’s own grin morphs into a smile.

“A good thing indeed, I’d say.”  


* * *

_  
“‘You mortals?’”_

“Should I consider you something different?”

“... And the other denizens of your Court?”

“Scattered throughout, dwelling as they wish. Just as you are now free to roam as you wish.”

Morrigan’s footsteps become still as the sound of the voices grow louder. She keeps herself out of sight, knowing better than to walk in whatever was currently happening in the large hallway beyond.

Her cousin’s voice she knew all too well, but as for the second, more unfamiliar female voice she could hear? Morrigan was well aware that it could only belong to one person.

“I wish to roam _home.”_

Morrigan snorts quietly to herself, careful not to be heard. Anyone who could stand up to her cousin with such tone and conviction in her words was someone Morrigan could grow to like easily.

She hears Rhysand laugh -- a sound which Morrigan felt she hasn’t heard in an age -- followed by his footsteps as he began to leave Feyre.

“I’m willing to accept your thanks any time, you know.”

The words make Morrigan want to groan, knowing they were the wrong things her cousin could say given the temper currently rising from Feyre like a storm. Yet even Morrigan doesn’t expect to hear the sudden loud sound a thump, followed by Rhysand’s retreating footsteps no longer being heard.

Curious, Morrigan peers out to see what’s happening in the long hall ahead of her. The sight she sees is one she’s not sure she’ll ever forget.

Standing with her back towards her Morrigan notices the small, surprisingly frail form of Feyre -- not that it’s really all that difficult to notice her, given the atrocious wedding gown she wears which Morrigan could only describe as a large meringue looking … thing, and the malnourished form of her raised arm. Feyre holds a shoe in her hand, looking as if ready to throw it, and Rhysand …

… He stands, staring at her in something akin to furious surprise. By the way he’s rubbing at the back of his head and the sight of Feyre’s shoe on the ground next to him, Morrigan expects that the thump she’d heard was Feyre _throwing_ and managing to _hit_ Rhysand on the back of his head with the shoe.

_“I dare you.”_

Rhysand growls the words out, his calmness from before evaporating into a burning temper. A part of her almost expects Feyre to shy away from him, but as Morrigan watches her throw the second shoe without a moment's thought she finds herself trying hard not to laugh.

Oh, she _definitely_ already likes Feyre.

Eventually - after the second shoe had been disintegrated - both Rhysand and Feyre continue to leave their separate ways; Feyre towards the bedroom Morrigan knew her cousin had likely already had prepared for her, and Rhysand towards where Morrigan stands. She reveals herself, a bright grin stretching across her face just as Rhysand glares at her in warning.

“So,” Morrigan draws out, moving to Rhysand’s side to join him as he walks. “ _That_ went well.”

Like an angered creature Rhysand growls at her, and Morrigan simply can’t hold it in any longer. She lets out a laugh, knowing it’s likely pissing Rhys off even more.

Yet there’s something else Morrigan hasn’t forgotten from what she’s just witnessed. Rhysand sounded happier than he had in weeks when he had spoken to Feyre just now. She may have irritated him and grated on his nerves, but Morrigan could tell there was an underlying relief to her cousin now that Feyre was with them. At least for the week.

Perhaps maybe one day Feyre would choose to stay with them all permanently.


End file.
